


Cursed Fates

by Espisayer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Human Names, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Blood and Injury, Demons, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espisayer/pseuds/Espisayer
Summary: Gilbert is an outcast in a human society that was ruined long ago in a war when the demons fell. The world is cursed, life is cursed, and of course he's cursed with scarlet-red eyes and a now-rare "human" decency. He often finds himself in trouble. Deep trouble. His latest trouble has a pair of otherworldly violet eyes. (This story has been updated to just be a one-shot! If you want to know more, please see my note at the end of the story.)Warning: I use alternate human names for certain characters.





	Cursed Fates

**Author's Note:**

> As a warning, I don't tend to characterize Russia and Prussia and their relationship the same way the typical fandom does. If you want to know more, please check out my profile.

The world had long been reduced to ashes, subjected to the hellspawn raised from the Otherworld by a society of ignorant people―people who thought more of becoming successful and furthering their research than the dangers of a fabled world of darkness. The shadows had emerged from invisible seals in the atmosphere to descend on the weakly human race, who were in no way prepared for an apocalypse of demonic creatures.

Skeletons of houses and buildings lay in piles like unearthed graves, but remained as hauntings to the humans as the structures lacked the benefit of decaying bodies. The real dead bodies stained the earth with all the marks of experimental magic of the humans and dark magic of the demons―now everything felt void and lifeless.

Human populations congregated to form colonies around the only places where plant life could be found. It was several hundred years later, but the pitiable humans still lived in a constant war zone with the demons, embittered and vengeful amongst the ruins of a civilization they never tried to rebuild.

It was a stupid fucking story.

There were three types of people left in the world. The leeches who used other people to survive; the “stalwart warriors” who defended the imperfection-less human race; and the demon sympathizers. Gilbert was widely considered to be in the last category and needed disposing of. But he was in a category all of his own.

He’d grown up like every other kid his age, his father and grandfather telling stories about these “Satanic beings” and war tales that had been carried through the family, going on about “soldiers like them” being the last hope for humanity. A soldier’s job was apparently to slaughter demons in the street. On the doorstep. Go out and hunt them.

Gilbert could’ve easily ended up as one of them. When he was young, he had been torn between fascination of the people with the mystical black animal horns, wings, tails, and their magic, against the fear of the unknown. That was a void which his family filled with their horror stories, about how the demons came here to destroy the world, kidnapped people, fed on blood, and ate human flesh… especially that of unruly children who didn’t listen to their parents.

The first time he truly began to doubt the people he was supposed to trust was when he was only 5 years old and witnessed his father put his sword to use against an infant. He escaped the house when he was only 10.

Now, Gilbert couldn’t keep track of the number of times he’d gotten by the skin of his teeth. It was a kill or be killed world. But it was usually humans who posed the most threat to his well-being; and if being seen as a traitor and demon sympathizer wasn’t bad enough, his starkly red eyes were considered demonic enough to get him hunted more than once.

As far as Gilbert was concerned, the whole world could fuck off. He got along perfectly fine by himself, despite having to survive by moving from place to place in the dead of night―while most humans were scared of getting skinned after the sun fell and kept indoors. It wasn’t as perilous as it sounded. After 10 years of drifting, he’d found the demons to be hermit-like and territorial.

Considering the demons’ pack mentality, it was unusual to hear rumors about a team of hunters chasing strays, every night for the last week. He wondered if they’d somehow broken up a small settlement, or maybe they were after escapees from captivity.

Gilbert had been told he went out looking for trouble―and he couldn’t argue that. Traveling alone for so long wasn’t much of a life to live and he had to come up with ways to entertain himself. One of those ways was to raid hunting camps in the middle of the night. It was a hobby, really. 

Departing from a tiny inn on the outskirts of a village, Gilbert began to follow a supply caravan into the deep woods, probably gearing up to go on a fresh hunt soon. Which would be the best time to raid their camp without any interference. By now he was so skilled at traversing the foliage undetected that he could’ve been a beast of the forest―practically lived half his life in the wilderness―skulking along the trees and no one was the wiser. 

While lying in wait, he learned a bit of information about this band of “mercenaries.” It was made up of about eight people, mostly men in their teens and twenties hoping to claim the bounty on demons supposedly terrorizing the locals―breaking into their houses, stealing their food, and cutting down anyone who got in their way. The mercenaries were fully stocked with swords, bows and arrows, ropes, poison, animal traps, metal cages… The implications of those supplies didn’t exactly say “standard sellswords,” and their intermittent bragging about capturing “prizes” was enough to make Gilbert’s stomach turn. Not that he was surprised by this sort of thing anymore. 

Six of the hunters soon suited up and disappeared into the forest. If they were persistent, Gilbert bet they’d be gone until dawn; if they were just wannabes like he suspected, then they’d at least be gone a few hours. That gave him plenty of time. 

Waiting until most of the group was a generous distance away―and couldn’t hear any cries for help―Gilbert kept his place in the bushes and fired off an arrow at their wagon of supplies. The sudden clattering and subsequent breaking of the wooden wheel was enough to scare the lone two men into bolting upright, but then the wagon completely fell apart. This presented the perfect opportunity to bash them both in the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. 

The bodies toppled over like dead logs. “This is getting too easy,” Gilbert muttered to himself, glancing around. Once he was certain they were out cold (giving their heads a push with his boot), he stepped over and helped himself to their stash of goods. Crates of fruit, dried foods, water, spare arrows and knives… 

And a massive shadow of a figure crumpled inside a metal cage, underneath the rubble he’d created. 

They were hiding a body on that wagon he’d broken? “Fuck,” he hissed. One of those times relying on your instincts didn’t pay off. Cursing himself, Gilbert quickly started clearing the debris of the cart away from the heavy metal cage―and as he did, he started to pick up the distinct, coppery odor of blood. 

In the darkness of the middle of the night, it was difficult to make out anything but a mound of large shadows―wings, possibly. If that was the case, they were massive, bigger than Gilbert’s entire body and he was just over six feet tall. Most likely, wildly too tall to be a woman… 

It wasn’t until a pair of blindingly violet eyes peered out at him from the cage that he was able to see anything more. He was made to stop in his tracks and nearly shivered at a chill in the air that hadn’t been there before. Well… the demon was certainly alive. Its eyes were icy and wide―he realized, wide with the unmistakable fear of a wild animal. 

A wild animal in fear could be more violent than a simple predator. He began to question whether this decision to help would be good for his heath. But… he couldn’t just leave it here… “I’m not with these assholes,” Gilbert tried, biting back his nerves. “I’m not here to hurt you.” 

It tried to move, weakly flapping its wings against its metal surroundings―but struggling to gain any results. Then the demon spoke, voice surprisingly soft. “What do you want, then…?” It was almost a whisper, but carried the faintest hints of a strange accent Gilbert hadn’t yet heard from a demon. 

He really had no business here but for his own good, never planned to do anything but. Things didn’t always go according to plan, though, and Gilbert had been known not to only act like a selfish prick from time to time. “I don’t want anything. Just…. hold on, I’ll get this thing open.” 

His only stroke of luck was that the cage had fallen with the door facing upwards―locked, but there were easier ways of taking care of that, which didn’t involve searching for a key. He summoned up a bit of fire magic he’d learned from an old friend, and burned the lock off his hinges, across the clearing. The fire and its bright light kicked up a cloud of debris, gone in the next second. 

The demon huddled in the corner of the cage for a prolonged period of time, even while Gilbert made sure to step back. The demon eventually reached up and pushed the cage’s door open, slowly rising into a sitting position. Gilbert remained hyper aware of the knife readily available at his waist, though it was nearly impossible break the demon’s piercing, fixated gaze. 

He watching the demon carefully, and as it stood out up straight for the first time, he felt like he was being engulfed in the shadow of a man who had to be half a foot taller, with a wingspan of twelve feet. At least. He began to make out the man’s long, curling sheep-like horns, stark black against his ash-blonde hair. He was very pale, almost sickly, though he didn’t seem overtly haggard or skinny. He must not have been caught very long ago. How did he get caught in the first place, though? 

The figure did not approach him, but continued to look at him warily; wings hunched, legs shaking slightly. Gilbert could’ve left at that moment. The demon was free. But he had a compulsion to stay, upon seeing the blood staining his clothes, running down his pant leg to his bare feet. “How badly are you hurt?” Gilbert asked. The demon remained silent and tense; and tilted its head at him with a tentative confusion. Gilbert couldn’t decide if it was eerie or weirdly cute, though the thought made him feel like the weird one. “Ah… If you sit down, I’ll you patch you up…” he tried again. “Then you can get out of here.” 

The demon’s body language didn’t change; if anything, he looked more suspicious. “Why?” he asked tersely. 

“Because I don’t give a shit about humans or demons,” Gilbert replied. Danger instincts aside, he’d gone through something like this before and knew exactly how mistrusting demons were. For understandable reasons which were complicated and he had no quick remedy for, except for appealing to their survival own instincts. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re hurt, and your alternative is hobbling away and risk getting caught again―would’ve flown away by now if you could. Right?” 

The demon stared at him, eyes wild with perplexion. After some stalling, staying quiet, he surprised Gilbert by slowly lowering into a seated position on the ground. Never once taking his gaze away, watching Gilbert’s every movement. 

Easier than expected. Gilbert kept a careful eye on him as well, as he removed a satchel from his waist with first-aid supplies and sat down on his knees. “Where are you bleeding the most?” 

Thinning his lips in hesitation, the demon ultimately answered, “It’s just my leg…” while nervously clenching and unclenching his fists. 

Just his leg? “No way.” Gilbert narrowed his eyes, glancing from his nervous fidgeting to his eyes. “You’re covered in blood. And you reek of it. You have to―” 

“It’s not all mine,” he replied abruptly, sharper this time. Gilbert felt himself tense up―of course it wasn’t, why hadn’t he considered that―but the man’s eyes also began to shine as they welled with tears. Before Gilbert could even think about reacting, the demon went on through a strained voice, strange accent thickening with the tightness of his throat. “Ten of them… attacked me. I didn’t know what to… I-It happened so fast.” He blinked and tears ran down his dirty face. His voice lost its breath. “I killed two of them… But… they…”  He began to shake, and hung his head, long, blood-stained fringe falling in his face as he began to mutter under his breath in a different language. 

Gilbert… didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t exactly say he’d had a demon break down into a confession on him before. He was taking a big risk here. There was a side of him, probably the smarter side, telling him, screaming, “Get the fuck out of here, you could end up dead, too!” But he was following a gut feeling, an instinct he’d always relied on, that this demon wasn’t about to attack him. Most didn’t unless they were provoked. And this one… despite his size seemed so… fragile-looking. 

After some brief, but heavy debate, Gilbert made his decision and cautiously reached out to rest a hand on the man’s knee, a forewarning. The demon looked back at him from the ground with bewilderment. “I’m gonna disinfect it and wrap it,” he said, before carefully lifting his pant leg. “Alright?” 

It wasn't without a stall, but he felt the demon relax slightly. The intensity of his gaze even seemed to have softened, before he nodded and shifted his weight to make the wound easier to reach. 

“It's gonna sting like fuck,” Gilbert warned, noting the huge gash in his shin that was oozing fresh dark blood with movement, shining in the moonlight and pooling at his foot. The demon said nothing, so he went ahead and started cleaning it. 

Any normal person would've screamed in pain at the fiery disinfectant salve. Gilbert wasn't sure if he was surprised that this man merely winced and tensed up; he was easily the strangest demon he'd met to date, and it'd only been about five minutes. 

No one would ever assume it, but Gilbert made a good medic and he made quick work of the wound. Not that he could do much about it healing. “So… you can’t fly… right?” Gilbert asked once he was finished with the leg wound. Something about them, black and bat-like, seemed weak and crumpled. 

The demon’s eyes turned vaguely morose at the question, but was less hesitant in answering. “I could… but… they’re burned.” 

Burned? He’d known these men were barbaric, but this gave him a clearer picture―yet another that could give any normal person nightmares. Gilbert was starting to doubt further that he’d be able to make it out of the forest on his own―without a lot of unnecessary hardship… 

“Why are you helping me?” 

Pulled from his thoughts, Gilbert stalled at the lack of suspicion in the demon’s tone and body language now. Surely he couldn’t trust so quickly. He was probably exhausted. “I told you why.” 

“No,” he said. “You said you don’t care about humans or demons.” 

Gilbert sighed. There wasn’t enough time in the world to explain why he was the way he was―especially not to a strange demon in the middle of the night. “If people look like they need help and I don’t get my ass put in a sling, I’ll help,” he began to say. “Anyone. Usually ends up being demons, because humans think they’re all the fucking second coming of Christ.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “My best friend’s a demon.” 

The demon tilted its head again, in that funny way. “Really?” Stranger and stranger, as if he could put all his gory wounds out of his mind, the demon moved closer to him with a curious gaze that almost reminded Gilbert of a cat. Movements slow and lacking of any menace, this demon was harmless as far as Gilbert could tell, which was fortunate because he… didn’t know how to react to it. “I’ve never met a human like you before,” he said, voice lilting with interest. 

That was putting it lightly. “I’m sure you haven’t,” Gilbert remarked with a scoff, almost managing a laugh. He found himself stalling when he could barely look away from those vividly violet eyes, devoid of that icy fear now and only held bright intrigue. He… really didn’t mind a better look, after all, but they didn’t need to be face-to-face. “Listen,” he said, lightly pushing the man back into sitting, while trying not to hurt him, “you gotta buy me a drink before you get that close.” 

“Hmm?” Stalling for several moments, the demon’s blonde lashes fluttered as he blinked in confusion. “A drink? I don’t understand.” 

He was so… innocent. Gilbert could’ve laughed. But then, he’d forgotten for a moment where they were, that he’d been in a cage minutes ago. “I’m kidding. Don’t worry about it,” Gilbert ended up saying, before he stood up from the ground. He offered a hand as he did so. “Name’s Gilbert. What’s yours?” 

Only hesitating for a few seconds, the demon took his hand. His fingers were long, and gritty with dried blood and dirt, but Gilbert paid no mind to it and pulled him to his feet. “Aleksandr,” he answered quietly. 

Gilbert wasn’t sure what it had been exactly that won over the demon’s trust, but maybe just being honest was finally paying off for him. “Aleksandr… How far away are you from home?” 

The demon’s lips pressed into a frown, and his gaze drifted away. “I… don’t have a home anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” He also couldn’t fail to notice that Aleksandr hadn’t let go of his hand yet. Gilbert drew his brows together. 

“I…” He seemed reluctant to answer, for whatever reason. As he hesitated, he finally noticed his hands and retracted them sheepishly, gripping at the tattered scarf around his neck, nervous and fidgety. 

The longer he stood, the more exhausted he looked. And Gilbert was starting to worry one of the humans would wake up soon. What to do? This whole thing was fucked. “Uh―look… You… You can come with me for now,” Gilbert heard himself saying. It was… almost an out-of-body experience. 

After a stall, Aleksandr’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? You would…” 

“Until your wings heal.” It was… hellishly impulsive, but his gut had gotten him this far. Gilbert grabbed one of the crates of food out of the broken wagon and hurriedly told him, “Grab something if you can and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Update 04/12/2019: Thank you for the reviews and kudos, I honestly don't know why this story has so many kudos. I'm glad that anyone wants to see more, though I have decided that I want this story to be gritter/darker than I've set it up to be. I plan on coming up with a more interesting story and re-writing the first chapter to match the tone I want. But I will leave this here as a sort of prototype and change the rating to T, which I feel is more appropriate.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr as Espisayer


End file.
